In the King's Forest
by dandelionsandroses
Summary: When Katniss Everdeen is arrested alongside Gale Hawthorne for illegally hunting on the King's land, she is sent to stand trial in front of the King, Peeta of the Mellark house. King Peeta has an interesting punishment for her, and it might just save her life. Historical AU.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in the Hunger Games trilogy, nor do I own any of the places/settings. All of that belongs to Suzanne Collins.**

Gale runs through the forest, the lines of his strong arms blurring into the foliage as he dashes through the trees. I'm not that far behind, but my fairly slim small legs don't compare to those of man well over six feet.

"Hey, Gale, wait for me!" I say, chasing after him, darting more branches as the forest thickens.

Gale Hawthorne is my closest friend, my only friend, unless you count Lord Undersee's daughter, Madge. When our fathers passed away, Gale and I took up the slack for the family and we took our fathers' positions in the illegal hunting trade.

Eventually, Gale and I reach our patch of the woods. At the edge of the forest there is a clearing of trees, it's near a lake that's very useful for fishing and swimming, where Gale and I spend our down time. We often find ourselves eating lunch in one of the long abandoned houses that my father always told me were made when people were free to roam the forests.

A long time ago, before the monarchy claimed their rights over the land, before the nobles owned the majority of the property, the commoners used to be free to do as they pleased in the forests that surrounded the village of Twelf. But for the past hundred years of so, in Panem, hunting in the King's forest is punishable by death, or more likely a few years in the prison's work camp. They always needed an extra hand on the work lines.

Gale rolls his knife over the stick, it's a nervous habit of his. "Catnip, they're getting stricter with the rules, with the harvest festival coming up. We should probably avoid the north east edge near the palace for a while."

I pause with the bow I'm mending, and look up from my work, "Where'd you here that from. You know Darius is a bit paranoid," Darius was perhaps one of the only friendly guards, and we often hung out with him in tho Hob, a black-market in the Seam, the poorer section of the village.

"Eh, not Darius. But he's just looking out for us, ya know. I think he has a thing for you," he says, causing me to blush at the memory of Darius making an offer for a kiss, "You know Leevy, right? Her brother got arrested for a couple of squirrels. They came to his house and arrested him, right there in front of his mother," Gale spits in disgust, "Six months down on the work lines in eleven, and that's just squirrels."

"Six months? That isn't too bad," It really isn't. My father got caught with a rabbit and he spent eight months on the work lines.

"Yeah, but that's for squirrels. Nobody even cares about the stupid squirrels, and several peacekeepers could testify to our habits. We should put away the game in our homes, hide it until we have to eat it. No need to have a bunch of evidence lying around like a couple of idiots," he places his hand on mine, "With the stuff we hunt, turkey and deer. The things they actually care about, the things they are trying to save for the harvest festival hunt. We could get a couple of years for that, and you would never last."

"Hey!" I say, scowling at him, and giving him a playful elbow to the ribs.

He rolls his eyes at me, "I'm not saying you're weak. I think we both know that you are far from weak. It's just that women don't fare well on the lines. You remember Becca, she got a knife to the chest over a jealous spat between two male prisoners."

He has a fair point. Being one of the few women in a group of angry male prisoners isn't exactly something to wish for.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," I say, resuming to the bow I was mending, my mood immediately sobering.

"We should probably head home. My mother wants me to watch Posy tonight and you should probably get home before your mother starts to worry," he says, standing up and throwing his game bag over his shoulder.

* * *

The walk home is unusually long, ever since they picked up security for the well worn path that most of us followed, navigating the woods has taken longer. My home, the seam, is somewhat decorated for the harvest festival. The straw and mud huts and the well worn older wooden houses have been decorated with ribbons on the doors, celebrating the harvest. Most years, the richer families in the seam put up some dried colored corn, but this year has been harder than most. Nobody can afford to waste food like that, even the merchant section of the village has toned down the decorations.

Gale and I take the shorter path through the meadow, avoiding most of the street traffic. Even we aren't daring enough to walk through the main streets with a bag of illegal goods.

"Catnip, want to stop at your house first? I need to pick up some mending from your mother," Gale says to me as we head towards our homes.

"Yeah, sure. I have some jams to give to you anyways," I reply as we reach the rickety steps of the house I have spent my entire life in.

I barely have the chance to open the door, before my mother flies it open, her face ghost white with terror.

"Katniss, Gale, we have some visitors," she says to me, her voice creaking as she speaks. She's not exactly a normal parent, and she's been a little off since my father died, but it's odd.

And that's when I notice the finely dressed men, one standing up, the other casually strung across my father's rocking chair, his presence defiling everything my father stood for. Gale must notice them too, because I hear the thud our foraging bag makes as it is tossed to the side.

The King's guards have come for us.

It's odd, really, usually they just send the regular village guards for things like this. I guess things have been a little slow, and maybe with the harvest festival hunt, clearing the forest is their duty. It doesn't matter. Gale and I are screwed.

I'm frozen in my place. I wouldn't run anyways, not when they know where my family lives. Neither would Gale, but the fear has taken over any ability I have to protect myself.

"Come inside, Ms. Everdeen. Although I can barely tell you're a woman with those clothes," the tall light haired guard says to me, his nose wrinkling at my breeches, "We have to talk."

I don't move, not really. Gale pushes us inside, his breath heavy with heat against my shoulder as he shoves the door closed.

"Get out of my chair," I say to the man, my voice cracking.

The man runs his hands through his hair, not bothering to stand up. Sporting a cocky grin he speaks up, "Katniss Everdeen and Gale Hawthorne, you are under arrest for seven counts of illegal hunting in the property of his majesty, King Peeta. You will also be held accountable for possession of illegal goods."

**Author's Note: If you read By Your Hand I Have Loved, you can probably tell that I love King Peeta stories. If you are also a fan of King Peeta, I would recommend 'Tales of Panem'.**

**Other than that, this was a teaser chapter for what is to come. Feel free to leave constructive criticism! I'm looking for a beta, fyi.**

**Twelf is an Old English word for Twelve, which I thought would be a perfect name for District Twelve, considering the time this story is set in. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the Hunger Games universe (including the characters/places.) This is purely fanfiction for entertainment purposes, so don't sue me.**

I stumble backwards slightly as the words leave his mouth. Luckily, Gale steadies me. From the slight touch I can feel the tenseness radiating through his arms, the anger apparent.

Under Arrest. Arrested. Jail. The work lines. Everything floods my mind as I think of what the next few years of my life will be like. I can't run, I know what they would do to my family. My lips quiver in fear as I hold back the tears. I don't want Prim to see me cry. No reason to trouble her more than she already is.

My mother brings her left hand to her mouth, grabbing Prim's waist with her right and drawing her close.

"Perhaps, Ms. Everdeen, Mr. Hawthorne, it would be best if you go willingly. Your mother and the girl should probably leave for this," the man says standing up from his chair and nodding in my mother's direction, allowing her to nudge Prim into her bedroom.

"What about goodbyes?" I ask, and it's a stupid question. I know the answer. It's not like me to be this weak, but I can't help it.

"Goodbyes, Ms. Everdeen, are for honorable people," he says, allowing the other soldier to come around the back and tightly shackle our wrists.

The cuffs are real metal. Shiny and new, too. They are obviously pretty expensive, the type they use on real criminals. Not the stuff they waste on illegal hunters.

Gale spits at the floor, his face filled with disgust as he shoots the man a dirty look.

"Make sure to write that one up for disrespect, Marvel," says the light haired one.

"What about the pretty one? I feel like I was getting some menacing glances back there. Maybe she's just into me. You know I like them feisty," Marvel says with a chuckle, shoving the door open and pushing me onto the steps.

"Unfortunately I have orders to make sure nothing happens to her," the light haired and obviously higher ranking soldier says as he takes Gale's wrists, kicking the back of his knees to force him to move.

"Where'd the orders come from, Cato?" Marvel questions the light haired man, Cato, as he has now been called.

"Someone higher up in the Palace with the arrest order that made us trudge all the way over here. Also orders to take the back roads and not make a show of it," Cato says as we walk along the dirt road that Gale and I had taken on our way here.

I wonder who could have called that in and why? I make eye contact with Gale, a look that obviously asks this question. He shrugs in response. We've both grown to communicate with glances and smiles over the years.

The men bring us to through the back roads, trying unsuccessfully not to draw too much attention. The bright shiny uniforms stand out like a sore thumb amongst the weary cold colors of the Seam. Gale and I are loaded up in the back of a transport cart and moved through the village.

From my surroundings and the direction of the cart, it's obvious we aren't being sent to the usual spot for prisoners charged with theft. No, we're heading in the direction of the palace. The palace guards, the cuffs, the the fancy cart, and most of all, being brought to the palace. The whole thing is off. There is no reason to spend that much money on a couple of hunters.

"Maybe they want to make an example of us," Gale says, voicing my internal thoughts.

I shift uncomfortably in the seat, sliding my fingers through the cuffs.

"Don't say that. There is no point. We will see when we get there. We can't waste our time on that. Gale, if I-"

He cuts me off, "I know. I'll miss you awfully, too. But we have to stay strong, Catnip. We have to take care of our families. Just like we promised."

"I'll get the lighter sentence. I'm a woman. The family can probably get by for six or seven months. I'll take care of them when I get out. Alright?"

"Alright. Katniss, if anything happens to us, if anything happens to me, you have to swear on your life you'll protect them. I'll do the same. Just like we have always said. I will keep my head low and I will not cause trouble, but you have to promise the same. Do as you are told when you are out there. It's the only way we can ever survive them. Submission."

It's odd, hearing Gale, my Gale, recommend submission. With all his traitorous talk and rebellious speech, it's something I never expected to hear, but he has a point. We have to keep our heads down and our mouths shut if we want to make it out of the system and the work camps alive. Disrespect to an official was an extra month for a first offence. An extra month could mean starvation for Prim and mother. For Prim's sake, it's true, I better shut up and do as I am told.

* * *

As the cart makes it's way out of the village and enters the Capitol, we take fewer back roads and enter bustling city streets. I rarely get this far into the city, and I might as well enjoy the civilization while I can, so I take in the sights and sounds, making sure not to make eye contact with any of the citizens. We pass through a merchant housing area, passing four story stone buildings in the traditional style shoved next to each other with only the occasional potted plant adding life to the streets.

Gale speaks up to me, "It's odd, isn't it. All of this money, all of this wealth, and they can't get a decent tree?"

"I guess that is what the forest is for, Gale," I reply, my tone making it obvious that I'm not in the mood for one of his little rants, even if the guards can't hear us.

"They can't use the forests, at least, not these people," he says as the cart makes a bump, pulling onto a rough back road. I can see the palace from a distance. The white stone and the gold accents gleam in the fading sun. It's not long before the sun parts from us, it's a longer journey than I had expected. It must have taken longer because they took the paths and back roads.

"They can't? I mean, I know it is for nobles, I'm not dull, but surely they can bribe their way to get a pass?"

Gale's better acquainted with the forest's laws than I am, "Some of the wealthier ones do during the off seasons, but during hunts they would never be allowed. They are dirt poor compared to the nobles. Such a ho-"

"Hush," I scold, cutting him off, "They could hear you." The guards were too close to say something that treasonous.

It's true. Insulting the country's system would give us something far worse than six months in a work camp.

The sentence for treason was a public hanging.

* * *

We pull up to a back gate on the palace grounds, the strong metal bars obviously showing that this entrance was meant for prisoners. Not hunters though, that was the odd part of this, usually the hunters, especially ones that resided in a village, were brought to a local place and sent to the work camps pretty quickly. If we were here, our sentence could take days, maybe even weeks before we got an official to send us out to the camps.

"Maybe you'll get kitchen duty or be bought out as a maid," Gale whispers to me as we are unloaded and the gates are opened.

"No talking amongst prisoners," an officer, probably a gate guard, barks at us, "Hey, Marvel, you heard that. Make sure to put it on the papers when ya dock them." The man pulls from his standing position at the front and goes out to help some of the other men pry open the gates.

Marvel and Cato shoves us inside. Past the gates is a little stone courtyard, certainly not meant for the average prisoner. Maybe this leads towards the palace's prisons.

"Eh, Marvel, what are they in for?" the same man speaks up.

"Illegally hunting on the King's grounds," Marvel says, rolling his eyes and bringing his hands to a shrug as he pushes us forward.

"Hunting? They made us set up the towers for common hunters?" the man says with a groan.

The towers? We're going to the towers? They haven't been used for years and it's another thing leading to this very unusual arrest. The towers aren't actually towers, just a few floors higher than main floors, rooms used for political prisoners and as a place for nobles with a price on their head to hide out. There was no logical reasons for us to be there.

"I guess so. Cato got orders from higher ups, and we're not allowed to play the pretty one either, so don't get any thoughts, and come help me with this door." Marvel says as he pulls us across the court and towards the wall, putting a key into a metal barred door. Cato is ten paces behind us, pulling around Gale.

"Now, go inside," Marvel says roughly taking my hands and shoving me forward as the door creaks open.

Inside are stairs, a lot of them and they are pretty solidly built out of stone and wood. A lot nicer than any of the other prisons I've seen.

Marvel shuts the door closed, and in that moment we're alone. Cato was behind us, with Gale too. We've finally been separated.

I probably will not see Gale for months. It's the harsh reality, although, maybe, hopefully, I could be assigned to the same place he is on the work lines.

Marvel nudges me towards the stairs, the annoyed grating of his teeth echoes through the passageway as we trudge through what seems to be six flights of stairs. At the sixth flight, we finally stop at an ornate wooden door.

"Go inside," Marvel barks, pulling the door open and briefly saying, "You will be seen in the morning sharply at six," before shoving the door closed behind me. I can make out the shutting of some sort of latch as I look around.

The room cannot be for me, it's far too beautiful. Meant for a noble or a lady, probably. The walls are a white stone lined with cheaply made tapestries, a large bronze colored unlit chandelier attached to the wooden roof. In the center of the room there is a dark wooden bed with flowers carved into the headboard, two matching nightstands on the side, small oil lamps casting a glow on the room. There are no other exits besides the door I entered, but there is a small closet door fitted with some knit blankets.

It's a nice cozy room, certainly not fit for the likes of me.

Well, I might as well enjoy a decent night of sleep. It might be the last night I spend in a real bed for a long time.

* * *

I spend the night awkwardly resting in the large bed. It's unfamiliar and I've never spent a night outside of my own bed, so even with the soft down mattress and the cozy cotton sheets, I can't seem to fall asleep. The room is a lot bigger than my bedroom at home, and without Prim splayed across the bed I'm unsure of where to lie down. The position is uncomfortable, legs straight and stiff against the mattress, my head flat against the feathered pillow as I look up at the ceiling.

I wonder how much just this single pillow cost? Certainly more than my entire straw bed back home. I pulled a piece that was peeking from the pillow case and studied it. It was a down feather, light and airy in my hands, probably from a goose. They were expensive, reserved for the nobles and surely not used to house prisoners. My mother had a small decorative pillow made out of the stuff at home.

I twiddle the piece of down in my fingers, my thoughts shifting to what tomorrow will bring. Hopefully my current treatment meant that I would get a position as a servant, although I wasn't naive enough to think that these were the conditions of servants. Everything about my treatment was perplexing, but the soldiers had said the orders came from a higher position. _Maybe, just maybe. _No! I shut down the thought immediately. It was foolish to think that was case, and anyways, it was better to not wonder about things I couldn't explain.

I had to sleep, tomorrow would be a long day and these thoughts were just keeping me from sleep.

I had to be strong and prepared, for Prim and mother. Whatever tomorrow may bring, I had to keep myself in check.

**Author's Note: Thank you for sticking with me and reading this chapter:) I'm sorry it took me so long to update. I have been really busy in both my personal life and my fanfiction life. **

**So, what do you think is going to happen? For those of you who have been hoping, we will see Peeta in chapter three.**

**As always, you can follow me at starveinsafety on tumblr.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters or places in the Hunger Games trilogy. All of that belongs to their respective owners (Suzanne Collins/publishers.)**

I am awoken by the sharp chiming of a bell tower. By the lack of light streaming in from the window, I can assume it is just before sun rise. It's a bit odd, the clashing noise of the bells. I can't imagine that many of the nobles who are attending court enjoy being woken up this early in the morning. From the stories I have heard, they all seem to have large parties every night. Nobody would choose to hear such violent chiming after a long night of drinking, not that I would know anything about that.

I've never been drunk before. We never had the money for anything like that. I had tried the liquor from the Hob once before but it was on the dime of somebody else. It had only made me feel a bit fuzzy and queasy. Nothing pleasant enough to explain how many people got drunk. Unlike the people in busier towns, the water in our village was fairly clean so the people who couldn't afford it tended not to drink a lot of ale. After all, water was free.

Forgetting the topic of alcoholic beverages, I force my body to remove itself from the comfort of the sheets. My aching tired body did a lot of good with the comfort of the soft sheets and supple bed. I had forgotten what a good night's rest felt like.

Surveying the room, I stand up and rub my wrists. The time spent in the cuffs and constraints had etched red marks around my wrists. It certainly wouldn't be the last time I would spend in cuffs. This wasn't good at all, sore wrists wouldn't manage well in work fields or kitchens. Perhaps I could barter something for some salve. Not that I had anything to trade with anyways.

Peering into the small mirror that lies on the wall across from the door, I take in my appearance. I have deep dark circle under my plain grey eyes, my hair looks dull, and my body looks dirty. I'm not very attractive at the moment. The first thing I notice, however, as I turn around towards the door is the dress hanging next to the door. Somebody must have come in while I was sleeping and placed it there.

It's a real odd thing to leave a dress for a prisoner. Perhaps they thought that my current use of breeches was unacceptable if I was to be surrounded by men in the work fields (or if I was lucky, slaving away in a rich person's kitchen) . I do recall one of the guards making a comment about it. These would all be exceptional theories if the dress was the slightest bit practical. It's a simple thing compared to what ladies wear at court, but it is far nicer than anything I own as the present. The long sleeved pale orange dress is far too light in color to be used for any occasion that involves working, it would get dirty far too quickly. All of my dresses back home were black or navy for this very reason.

Maybe it isn't for me? I think to myself. But who else would it be for? Nobody else uses this room, and I can't imagine they would leave it in my possession if it was meant for anybody else. Being assured that it is mine, I step forward and remove it from the hook. Holding it out I can tell it is in one of the most fashionable styles as the long sleeves and neck to hemline buttons indicate. It's a bit difficult to get on and it requires a lot of wrangling to button it from the behind, but in ten minutes I have slipped my old clothes off and fitted on the dress.

This time when I look into the mirror I look far more attractive. The dress fits me perfectly and the color pulls away from the dirt on my face and in my hair. I take out the scrap of fabric that hold my hair in place and run my fingers through it before rebraiding. There is no point in not looking presentable. Especially if I was lucky and I was going to be meeting an employer today.

After adjusting my appearance I return to sit on the bed and wait patiently for somebody to escort me out of my room. It's not long before somebody enters the room, but this time it isn't a guard or a soldier. Instead, the person who enters is a small dark haired girl around Prim's age who introduces herself as Rue.

I notice that when she enters the door locks behind her, as if somebody else has accompanied her. No reason to give me a chance to escape.

Rue looks up at me, "I was sent here to get you ready and help you into your dress, but I see that will not be needed," the girl says, her voice revealing that she's somewhat afraid. It's probably been a long time since she has seen a criminal. I highly doubt they let palace maids like her see the gallows.

"No, I guess you don't have to do anything," I respond as I stand up and cross the room to meet her.

She pushes the bucket she is holding forward, "Here. There is a sponge in there too so you can wash yourself. Knock twice on the door when you are finished." The girl shoves the bucket into my hands and quickly exits the room, barely allowing a second to go by after the door is opened before flinging herself into the hallway.

I had never imagined I could scare anybody that much. It's unsettling to know that children are afraid of you, especially when those children look like Prim.

After the door is shut I examine the contents of the bucket. It's nothing special, just some water and a sponge, but it will do fine for the purpose of cleaning myself up. I will never know when I might get a chance to be clean again. After squeezing the sponge of excess water I scrub away the dirt from my arms, neck, and face. Finally I look presentable. Not even just that, I almost look pretty. What a waste, to look pretty when you are just a prisoner.

When I'm done I do as I'm told, knocking on the door twice and standing back as the door is opened. The guard waiting for me is different than the two from last night. This one is taller and older. He's of a higher rank too, with metals and a gold band around his waist. Far more than any common prisoner needs.

The man motions for me to turn around, which I comply to, allowing him to cuff my wrists and pull me forward down the stairs that we took last night.

"I'm afraid that we are going to be taking a special route today," the guard says in a softer tone than I am used to being spoken in, "You will not be sent to a judge as you would usually be assigned. Instead, we have made other arrangements."

"Other arrangements?" I ask him.

"It isn't my place to answer that Miss," he says as we reach the landing and come into what must be the courtyard from last night.

In the morning light I can see more details of the place. A desolate stone fountain along one wall, carved mahogany doors across from the gate, and several flowering bushes reaffirm my thoughts from the night before. This courtyard was certainly not meant for any prisoners of my status.

There is a simple black carriage waiting at the gates. It's a lot nicer than the cart that Gale and I were brought in, so I'm suprised when the guard loads me into the passenger section and accompanies me inside. I'm not exactly an expert on these things, but I cannot imagine they normally transport prisoners to court in real carriages. It is just the cherry on the top in terms of odd events that have happened during my arrest.

The carriage journeys through the different sections of the palace. With only the clop! clop! of the horses to break the silence, my wanders off to the thoughts of Gale. I wonder if he too is being treated in the way that I have been. I'm not stupid though. It is highly unlikely that Gale got more than a cell and some stale bread.

When we finally stop we pull into a side door around the central location of the palace. With my wrists still chained, I have to wait for the guard to exit first and come around to help me out. It's awful being that defenseless. I couldn't protect myself if I tried.

We are pulled into what must be a back hallway since there aren't many people other than the few guards and myself. It's still fairly luxurious though, with marble flooring and gold accents along the molding. I wonder what it would be like to live in such a grand place your entire life. Seeing this everyday must make a person not appreciate it as much. If there is one thing to be happy about, it's that everything seems marvelous in comparison to the life I have been given.

Eventually when we reach the more crowded section of the palace I am handed off to another guard. The new guard is younger, probably just back from war. Unlike the previous guard he barely looks me in the eyes as he shoves me through the mingling crowd of servants and nobles that bustle through the central hallways.

Much to my thanks the crowd is far too preoccupied to notice me. Perhaps the dress is the reason they don't notice my cuffs. The color and style blend nicely with the throngs of people.

* * *

The guard finally stops pushing me around when we reach a door at the end of a small hallway. The room appears to be somewhat hidden or placed aside from the main quarters, obscured from view unless you have followed a maze of passageways. The two guards posted outside of the ornate door open it almost immediately as we come into view. They must have been expecting us, as they don't check identification.

This time the guard doesn't bring me inside. He stops at the doorway and motions for me to go inside. When I don't comply immediately, he gives me a little shove into the room. It's some sort of throne room from what I can tell. The walls are covered in recognizable tapestries from different times in my country's history, dark red curtains pulled across the sides, a warm light cast from a gold chandelier in the center of the ceiling. It's a very expensive room, that I can tell, but it isn't the chandelier or the wallpaper that catches my breath.

No, what surprises me is the man sitting in the large gold and damask chair in the center of the room. Surrounded by a number of bookkeepers and secretaires of some sort, the man demands the attention of everybody in the room. To any stranger who visited this room, it would be very apparent that he was in charge. He's changed quite a bit, the familiar gold locks pulled back in the current fashion, his jawline sporting the slight presence of light stubble, and the once undefined shoulders sporting a gold cloak over his lush green jacket. But it's the same man, and the sparkle in his bright blue eyes is evidence of that.

Regardless of how he may change his appearance, you never forget the face of somebody who has saved your life once. You certainly don't forget the face of somebody who has saved your life twice.

Peeta.

**Author's Note: There is the update:) Any constructive criticism is welcome and appreciated. In advance, this is not betaed because my internet/power is flickering and I wanted to get this up while I can. Let me know if you enjoyed it by giving a review. **

**As always, you can follow me on tumblr at starveinsafety.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Hunger Games trilogy, so don't sue me. The middle section was adapted from Chapter Two of The Hunger Games.**

When I first met Peeta- or the King, perhaps that was a more respectful term- I was eleven years old. At that time, Peeta was the third in line for the throne. His conception was one of the few instances where a female child would have been a more useful to the Royal Family. Being essentially worthless to the crown, Peeta was sent away at an early age to live in an estate bordering my village of Twelf.

Even though he grew up along our village, I was one of a select few people who actually met him. Due to my house's location around the edges of the Seam, I was never that far away from Peeta. I had seen him from afar growing up, running in the bright green grass along the back gate with the estate dogs, playing gameball with the sons of servants and tutors that were kept as companions in certain seasons, and more often than not, playing stoolball, a game that required two participants, by himself. I imagined for the most part he must have been lonely, but I never dared even look him in the eye. As somebody of a much lower status, you never knew how attracting the attention of nobles could get you killed.

The estate itself was a luxurious vacation home, a perfectly decent place for a royal child to grow up, but the statement made by leaving an heir out of court became a common gossip topic among the districts. Peeta was essentially cast away from political scrutiny, and disregarded by most of the higher nobles during the seasons he was attending court. Peeta was worthless to them.

* * *

It was during the worst time. My father had been killed in the mine accident three months earlier in the bitterest January anyone could remember. The numbness of his loss had passed, but the pain would hit me out of nowhere, doubling me over, racking well.

At eleven years old, with Prim just seven, I took over as head of the family. There was no choice. I bought our food from the legal market and cooked it as best I could and tried to keep Prim and myself looking presentable. Because if it had become known that my mother could no longer care for us, the village leaders would have taken us away from her and placed us in the orphanage or the poor house, if there was no room. I'd grown up seeing those kids. The sadness, the marks of angry hands on their faces, the hopelessness that curled their shoulders forward. I could never let that happen to Prim. Sweet, tiny Prim who cried when I cried before she even knew the reason, who brushed and plaited my mother's hair before we left for the day, who still polished my father's shaving mirror each night because he'd hated the layer of coal dust that settled on everything in the Seam. The community home would crush her like a bug.

So I kept our predicament a secret. But the money ran out and we were slowly starving to death. There's no other way to put it. I kept telling myself if I could only hold out until May, just May 8th, I would turn twelve and be able to sign up for field work. Only there were still several weeks to go. We could well be dead by then. Starvation is not an uncommon fate in Twelf. Who hasn't seen the victims? Older people who can't work. Children from a family with too many to feed. Those injured in the mines. Daughters without dowries who couldn't get work as a servant. Families kicked out of the poor house. And one day, you come upon them sitting motionless against a wall or lying in the Meadow, you hear the wails from a house, and some official from the poor house is called to collect the body. Starvation is never the cause of death officially. It's always the plague, or exposure, or a fever. But that fools no one.

On the afternoon of my encounter with Peeta, the rain was falling in relentless icy sheets. I had been in town, trying to trade an old christening gown of Prim's in the public market, but there were no takers. Although I had been to the Hob on several occasions with my father, I was too frightened to venture into that rough, gritty place alone. The rain had soaked through my father's leather hunting jacket, leaving me chilled to the bone and bare in a manner that was not appropriate for a woman. For three days, we'd had nothing but boiled water with some old dried mint leaves I'd found in the back of a cupboard.

By the time the market closed, I was shaking so hard I dropped my bundle of baby clothes in a mud puddle. I didn't pick it up for fear I would keel over and be unable to regain my feet. Besides, no one wanted those clothes. I couldn't go home.

Because at home was my mother with her dead eyes and my little sister, with her hollow cheeks and cracked lips. I couldn't walk into that room with the smoky fire from the damp branches I had scavenged at the edge of the woods after the coal had run out, my bands empty of any hope.

I found myself stumbling along a muddy lane a few feet behind my house, right along the property of the estate where Peeta resided. The back was lined with kitchens and small houses where servants and groundskeepers slept. l remember the outlines of garden beds not yet planted for the spring, a goat or two in a pen, one sodden dog tied to a post, hunched defeated in the muck.

All forms of stealing are forbidden, especially from the nobles.

Punishable by death.

But it crossed my mind that there might be something in the trash bins, and searching through those wouldn't get me killed. Maybe I could be sentenced for trespassing on royal grounds, but it wouldn't get me killed. At the very least, the prisons had a solid meal every day. Perhaps I would find a bone from the butcher or rotted vegetables from today's feast, something no one but my family was desperate enough to eat. Unfortunately, the bins had just been emptied. When I passed the baking quarters, the smell of fresh bread was so overwhelming I felt dizzy. The ovens were in the back, and a golden glow spilled out the open kitchen door. I stood mesmerized by the heat and the luscious scent until the rain interfered, running its icy fingers down my back, forcing me back to life.

I lifted the lid to the baker's trash bin and found it spotlessly, heartlessly bare. Suddenly a voice was screaming at me and I looked up to see a woman in an apron, some sort of upper servant, telling me to move on and did I want her to call the guards and how sick she was of having those brats from the Seam pawing through her trash, thinking they had a right to touch even the waste those better than them. The words were ugly and I had no defense. I carefully replaced the lid and backed away, eventually lying down at the edge of the estate's grounds.

That is when I first noticed him, a boy with wet blonde hair and a bright velvet tunic, trudging down the hill towards me. I had seen him around, and I recognized who he was well enough, but I was too frail to bother to care. He was carrying something under his arm, two loaves of fresh golden bread in a basket, that he quickly handed to me without a word before running back to the safety of gates.

That kept us alive enough for me to gain my strength back, to pick up the courage to hunt for food. It saved all three of us from starvation.

It was around this time when little trinkets wrapped in scraps of expensive fabrics started arriving on the back porch. Gold coins, silk ribbons, and even a silver hair comb. I never had a chance to prove who they were from, and naturally I sold most of them, but the nagging suspicion never left my brain that it was Peeta. Because who else did I know that had the money to do that?

* * *

I didn't see Peeta again for nine months after the bread incident. But one Saturday afternoon, when I was mending a dress of Prim's on the back porch, there he was, practicing archery in the back fields. It was, at his age, both custom and law for any boy who might have to fight in a war to start learning archery.

The gates weren't far from our property, ten feet or so, and I could clearly see where his arrow hit the circular marking board each time. He wasn't very good at it, barely even hitting the board each time, and for some reason I found this amusing and made the mistake of loudly laughing as an arrow landed in the grass.

Peeta must have noticed, because he dropped his bow and came over to the gate.

Pressing his face against the bars, speaking up, "I am afraid that I am quite awful at this, so I don't mind your scoffing, it's only the truth, but if you would like to show me a couple of things, that would be nice. My instructor is confusing."

"I'm not sure," I had said cautiously, "why you would ever think that I would know how to use that, your majesty."

Peeta laughed against the gates, "I watch you, you know. I'm not dull, I know what you do, you know, the hunting," he was quick to reassure me, "I'm not going to tell anybody, don't worry, as long as you promise to help me with the archery nobody will ever know."

* * *

After that, Peeta and I became friends. It was an odd relationship, one between a common Seam girl and an heir of the throne. His governess and tutors all disapproved, but he had every right to do as he pleased, and nobody could stop him.

We spent the time I was away from the woods playing on the estate grounds. Fighting with dummy swords, making up stories in the mind puzzling made of gardens, and I even stayed in on some of his lessons.

Gale never approved of the friendship, in fact, he hated Peeta and everything he stood for. But what could he do other than clench his fists every time the name was mentioned?

* * *

The friendship lasted until we were fourteen, when Peeta's two older brothers were killed in a carriage accident on the way to a neighboring country. By this time, Peeta and I had grown quite close. We had even shared a kiss two years prior on a dare. He had promised to write to me, but I had only received one letter, a formal, distant one at that. If it hadn't been for last year, I would have thought he had forgotten about me altogether.

But he hadn't, even now, he was still protecting me.

**Author's Note: Yes, yes, I know most people hate back story chapters, but it is needed for the story:) What would you like to see in the upcoming chapter? Trust me, it is going to get juicy after Chapter 5. **

**I would like to thank by wonderful beta, ohalaskayoung, for editing this story:)**

**Historical Notes - Gameball is a medieval form of football. There were actually laws in England during the 1200s where men were required to practice archery. **

**As always, you can follow me on tumblr at starveinsafety.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything in the Hunger Games Trilogy universe. All of the characters and places go to their respective owners.**

We both just stay there for a moment, looking at each other and saying nothing. It's been forever for the two of us, such a long time has passed since we were having matches on the lawn or lying in the maze of gardens. At first I had ached for his presence. The sweet clueless demeanor, the ruffled messy blond hair, and the fresh scent of purchased soap had become familiar to me. But after he left, after he never wrote, that aching turned into bitterness.

"Peeta," I say, catching my bottom lip with my teeth as I give a mock curtsy. The sound of my voice breaking the silence echoes through the rooms, causing the various nobles look amongst themselves, wondering what nerve I had to address him improperly.

"Katniss Everdeen," the blond haired, blue eyed man stands up and brushes his hands against his pants as he stares in almost disbelief, "in the living flesh."

"Well, I do hope I am living," I say, the poorly executed joke comes across awkwardly.

"As do I," he says as a grin breaks out on his face.

I only give a nod as he returns to his chair and accepts a heavy book from one of the scholars.

"You have been charged with one count of trespassing against the vert and the venison of the royal forest," Peeta says in an even uniform voice.

I'm shocked at how formal he speaks with me, reading the charges as if I am any other criminal.

"Marquis Jon, according to the nineteenth section, anybody who is arrested for crimes against the land may be given to the favor of any noble, agree?"

A pudgy white haired man two people across from him nods, "Agree."

"Put it in the records like we spoke of earlier and make the arrangements for a position," Peeta's voice is so commanding, so authoritative. He doesn't sound at all like the clumsy fourteen-year-old boy that left me. He's no longer my Peeta, I realize. He's changed over the years. He has become a leader and a king, something far from the unwanted third son of the royal family.

"And the boy?" the pudgy man who must be the Marquis questions.

"The boy?" Peeta says with a wrinkle of his forehead.

"The boy she was arrested with," the Marquis says in response.

The must be talking about Gale. My Gale, who is probably locked away in some dingy cell because Peeta forgot who he was involving in whatever ridiculous plan he has concocted.

"Oh, what was his sentence exactly?" Peeta asks. He turns his head a little bit to the left and bites his top lip.

"Two years in the camps," one of the nobles answers.

I gasp a little. Two years! He would never survive that long. Nobody does.

"Make it six months in the kitchens, say Haymitch bargained for it. It cannot be on record. Too many red flags." The nobles nod and a few of them make notes in the books.

Peeta closes the book he was reading and hands it to a footman, catching me off guard as he crosses the room and meets me two feet across from where I am standing. He's right there in the flesh; after so long I can see every eyelash and strand of hair. I can even see the mark on his cheek from where I accidentally hit him with a knife when we were thirteen.

He touches my wrist, "Would you please follow me?"

I scowl at him and slap his hand away, causing every guard in the room to raise their weapons at me. It's a really unusual feeling to have that many people with the ability to end your life in a second pointing swords and bows at your heart.

Peeta motions for them to lower their weapons and laughs, "Katniss, I need you to trust me for a moment. I can explain everything," his voice lowers, "Please Katniss, we have things to discuss in privacy."

His tone makes it quite obvious that whatever dealings he has with me are important, so I simply nod and allow him to bring me through a door.

* * *

The first thing I notice is that no guards follow us into the room. It isn't protocol. Even when Peeta was a third son he was scarcely let alone. Everybody was scared that he would be stolen or killed, and he didn't even matter back in those days. Surely a King demands more importance.

The room is windowless, but it isn't dark or stuffy. The chandeliers are well lit, they must have been prepped a short while ago, and the walls are a light cream. It's a nice room, the gold accents and the velvet burgundy chairs make it obvious that this room is meant for the nobles, but it's fairly bare compared to the usually overstuffed decor that is popular. It's an odd, empty room, and the lack of decor makes me uneasy.

Bang! A sharp clammering sound awakens me from my thoughts as Peeta lowers a wooden bolt across the door. As long as I have known Peeta, and as much as I know he would never harm me, the act of being locked inside with him does creep me out the slightest bit.

"Sorry," he says apologetically, "I didn't think it would be so loud. Go, sit," he motions towards the burgundy settee against the wall.

I don't usually wear dresses so it takes a bit of wiggling to get myself situated on the settee, and I'm still flattening out the light orange fabric when Peeta stretches out next to me.

Once again, we just stay there for a moment staring at one another. He's grown older and more attractive with his years. The goofy blonde haired boy who couldn't shoot straight if he tried has been replaced by a man, still blond, but no longer a boy. He's a man now, with real responsibilities and no time to waste on girls like me.

Ever so gently, Peeta brushes a stray hair and tucks it behind my ear as he speaks up, "It's been so long, Katniss."

"You never wrote," I say, the words coming out as a broken whisper.

"I had my reasons," he replies, this time moving his hand around my jaw as he cups my face.

I shove his hand away and stand up, my hands moving with my anger as I strike him across his face.

"You had your reasons? You had your reasons for forgetting that I ever existed with a few exceptions and then just magically one day deciding that you were going to have me arrested? You can shove your stupid little reasons up your…"

He stops me by meeting my stance and pressing his lips against mine. It's barely a real kiss, just a quick peck but it is enough to throw me off balance.

"You can't just kiss me like that!" I say with a mix of shock and anger as I turn bright red.

"Why exactly not?" He says, cocking his head

"Because kissing is an act that is shared with lovers, not people who are practically strangers," I spit out.

"I'm sorry," he says, a dejected look on his face. In this moment he looks so sad, so impossibly upset that I can barely process that he has kissed me.

"Oh you don't just get to play with me like that, Peeta." I say a bit too sharply.

"I'm not playing with you, Katniss, but you should be a bit more aware of who you are slapping. Harming your King is a capital offense, you know."

For a moment there I think he's serious and I remember that he isn't just Peeta, he's the king. But the reassurance comes when he burst out into laughter and wraps his arms around me and pushes me back into the seat.

"This has been quite the day, don't you think? I've missed you so much, you will never know how long I've been waiting to kiss you, but enough talk of that. We have to be serious," his change of moods is almost maniacal.

"You arrested me on some sort of whim. You can't do that with people, even if you are the King." I point out.

"I had my reasons for all of th-," he starts out.

I break him off, "Enough with that reasons crap, explain."

"Fine, let me start from the beginning. Your life was in danger and I needed a way to get you out." He bites his lip and looks down at the velvet of the settee.

"My life was in danger?" I ask.

"Yes, I'm afraid this is more than just my playing with you. You know who Snow is, right?" he lowers his voice to a whisper.

"The Duke? I'm not dull, you know that." Duke Cornelious, more commonly known as Snow among those of a higher rank, ruled the country until Peeta came of age.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," I frown at the endearing term, "I didn't mean to insult you. Anyways, he wanted you dead. You were to be arrested and hung."

"Why on earth would he want me dead?" I say, fear and confusion filling my body.

"There was a vote of sorts coming up and he wanted to throw me off. He found you, only God knows how, and he was going to use you to get to me."

"Well, perhaps if he did his research he would know you haven't written to me in years," I say with the roll of my eyes. It's a silly excuse for arresting me, and I'm not in the mood for games.

"I'm being serious Katniss." He places his hand on mine. "This isn't the time for anger of jokes. You shouldn't have been hunting anyways during this time, it is far too dangerous. I had to protect you, I had you arrested and sentenced under my watch with my officers. It was the quickest way to get you out and avoid suspicion."

"I don't need your protection," I lie.

He gives me a sad smile, "Perhaps, but I need yours."

I look at him, waiting for an explanation. Why would a man with the largest army on this corner of the earth need my protection?

"You're one of the few people in this world I can truly trust, and you're an excellent marksman. I need somebody who can be at my side during certain intimate times and avoid suspicion."

"Isn't that what your guards are for?" I ask, raising my eyebrows at him. The whole thing is off.

"There are only a few of them that I can truly trust, and I have them with me at all times, but I need somebody who can have my ear even when I am lying in bed at night. I have a proposition for you. You're not going to like it, but you have to hear me out on this." He moves his hand away from mine and shifts back in his seat.

"What type of proposition?" I ask hesitantly. The Peeta who sits next to me has been all over the place during our conversation. God knows what he will throw at me next.

"I need you to pretend to be my mistress," he says as he cringes back, in defense for a slap.

But I don't hit him, I just sit there in shock. "What?"

"It's a good cover. I have everything worked out, trust me on this. It would only be preten-."

It wasn't a bad idea in practice. The King's mistress pretty much had free range, and since Peeta wasn't married it wouldn't cause too much damage to his reputation. I could freely accompany him to his bedchamber and even innocently sit in on political discussions. It was pretty ingenious now that I thought about it, but why it had to be me was another story.

"You're crazy, you know that?" I said to him.

"Is that a yes?" he says, running a hand through his blond hair.

"Let me get this straight? Snow is trying to kill me, so you had me arrested and now you want me to play the part of mistress, for your protection?"

"Basically, yes."

"Is it safe?" I ask him, raising my eyebrows.

"I wouldn't put you in unnecessary danger. You are far more safe with me then you would be anywhere else. This way we can look out for each other, and Snow wouldn't harm you under my nose."

"Nobody would believe that you would sleep with a common girl like me," I counter.

"I have all of that worked out, you will have a good cover," he replies. "Any more excuses?"

There is really nothing else to say. If he isn't lying, it is an exceptional way to keep both of us safe, "Fine, but I want something."

He laughs and runs his fingers against mine, "Anything you want from me I will give you."

* * *

**Author's Note: So, there it is:) I'm sorry it took so long, but By Your Hand I Have Loved and Second Chances are both in editing waiting to be published so everything should be out pretty soon.**

If Peeta seems out of character, trust me on this one, there is a reason for the odd behavior.

**As always you can follow me on tumblr at starveinsafety.**

**Speaking of tumblr, I have been creating inspiration boards for this story (and every single outfit in By Your Hand I Have Loved). If you go to my tumblr page and then click on inspiration you can see my master list of inspiration pieces. That being said, I do post images that inspired me on a whim so if you want to follow me, that would be great.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Dislcaimer: I do not own anything in the Hunger Games trilogy universe. All characters and places belong to their respective owners.**

"Fine, whatever you want. I will give it to you."

"I want protection, for my family," I tell him. No matter what happens, no matter what I have to do here, my family has to remain my highest priority.

He nods, "Of course. Is that all?"

I pause, considering my options here. Who do I care about? Prim and mother will be included in the protection I have requested. Peeta will take care of them, I can trust him with that. The only other person I have in this world is Gale. Gale! Probably locked away somewhere in the depths of the castle, waiting for six months of hard labor. I've nearly forgotten about him with everything that has happened.

"Gale. I want a deal for Gale, and protection for his family of course," I reply.

He wrinkles his forehead and sighs into the sleeve of his coat, "Fine, what do you want for him. I can get him a position as a servant for the six months of his sentence."

I consider it. Being a servant was something I had hoped for a short while ago, but now that I have Peeta here, I have the power to demand more.

"I would like for him to have a position as a guard here at the palace. He's strong enough for the position and he knows his way around with a weapon," I counter.

He gives a bitter laugh, "That's not going to work."

"Why not?"

"Because I can't exactly claim you are my mistress and then have you off fucking with your little boyfriend when you get a chance to sneak off. How exactly is that going to look? For either of us? And don't try saying you will be discreet."

I stare at him for a moment. There has never been anything remotely romantic between Gale and me, and he has no reason or right to assume that there is.

"He's not my boyfriend or my lover, nothing of that sort."

He huffs, "It doesn't matter. I don't want to fight with you over this. I can arrange for him to have six month shift at the forests during the hunt. This way he can be near his family and do something he would enjoy. Does that please you enough to come to agreement?"

I nod. It's a fair deal.

At my motion of acceptance he slips my hands into his and leads me out of the room.

* * *

R-i-i-i-p! I grit my teeth as Venia, a woman with aqua hair and gold tattoos above her eyebrows, yanks a strip of Fabric from my leg tearing out the hair beneath it.

"Sorry!" she pipes in her silly Capitol accent.

"You're just so hairy!"

Why do these people speak in such a high pitch? Why do their jaws barely open when they talk? Why do the ends of their sentences go up as if they're asking a question? Odd vowels, clipped words, and always a hiss on the letter s . . . no wonder it's impossible not to mimic them. I have noticed the strongest accents come for the high servants and the lower nobles, perhaps they do it to cover up their rural roots. At least Peeta, who grew up far away from the palace, lacks the silly accent. I could never enjoy the company of such a shrewd voice.

Venia makes what's supposed to be a sympathetic face. "Good news, though. This is the last one. Ready?"

I get a grip on the edges of the table I'm seated on and nod. The final swathe of my leg hair is uprooted in a painful jerk.

I've been stuck in this room for what seems like hours. Peeta had led me through some back passageways and just dropped me off with these people, giving them instructions to take care of me. They must have been expecting me, because warm bath water was already drawn by the time I arrived.

Peeta planned all of this.

They have been hard at work, changing me from a Seam girl who tended to wear breeches into a woman that could fit the role of royal mistress. This has included scrubbing down my body with a gritty loam that has removed not only dirt but at least three layers of skin, turning my nails into uniform shapes, and primarily, ridding my body of hair. My legs, arms, torso, underarms, and parts of my eyebrows have been stripped of the Muff, leaving me like a plucked bird, ready for roasting. I don't like it. My skin feels sore and tingling and intensely vulnerable. But I have kept my side of the bargain with Haymitch, and no objection has crossed my lips.

"You're doing very well," says a woman named Flavius. "If there's one thing we can't stand, it's a whiner. Grease her down!"

Venia and Octavia, a plump woman who while wearing the dress of a high level servant, maintains a wig on her head. Then they pull me from the table, removing the thin floor length robe I've been allowed to wear off and on. I stand there, completely naked, as the three circle me, wielding tweezers to remove any last bits of hair. I know I should be embarrassed, but they're so unlike people that I'm no more self-conscious than if a trio of oddly colored birds were pecking around my feet.

The three step back and admire their work.

"Excellent! You almost look like a human being now!" says Flavius, and they all

laugh.

It's funny how the people here barely consider us humans. Even simple servants consider those of us from the lower villages trash.

But I know they mean well so I force my lips up into a smile to show how grateful I am. "Thank you," I say sweetly. "We don't have much cause to look nice in my home village."

This wins them over completely. "Of course, you don't, you poor darling! We know the whole story, it's really awful." says Octavia clasping her hands together in distress for me.

Flavius gives a giggle, "Awful that such a pretty madame had to grow up all the way out there, but terribly romantic too," she says giving Octavia a little push. It makes me wonder what story they have been given, that they consider anything about this romantic.

One of the serving women tosses Octavia a gown, "Here honey, we need to get you dressed. It's getting late, and you have an appointment with your King," she gives a little wink, "in half an hour."

The dress is gorgeous. A bit too colorful and low cut for my taste, but I cannot deny the beauty. The front of the dress is a ruffled orange that matches the fabric behind the slitted sleeves. The rest of the dress is a light blue, complimented with a pale violet ribbon that pulls the dress together. It's a very expensive gown, grander than anything I have ever even seen in Twelf, but it's perfect for a woman that is supposedly sharing a bed with Peeta. I can't even start to imagine how much the dye cost for this single dress. Probably more than every family in Twelf lives on in a year.

* * *

When they are done with the fitting the under layers of my gown and making sure the heavy ruby necklace sits between my breasts just right, the prep team leads me through the series of passageways that led me here.

It's very dark along the way, with only the occasional candle and the lamp that Flavius carries to light up the thin dank walls of the passageway. If they are a secret as I suspect, they must have not been updated since the palace was built, over two hundred years ago. That would explain the worn stone and the out of style torn tapestries that line the walls.

* * *

After walking for what seems like miles and making about a thousand turns, we stop at an aging wooden door.

Flavius motions me towards it, "The King will be waiting for you." She barely gets the words out of her mouth before turning and running back. She should have waited to see if it would open. I'll never find my way back if this stupid thing doesn't work.

I pull at the handle and try to push the door open, but it doesn't budge. So instead of pulling I try pushing, but again my attempt is unsuccessful. It takes pushing the entirety of my body against the wooden panels for the thing to finally pop open, and even then it only widens a foot.

The first thing I notice is Peeta. He's propped up against his bed, lying dressed on top of the covers making notes in a book.

I can assume from his presence that this is his residence. It's not exactly what I expected from a King's room. The books scattered across the dresser and floors make the room look messy, and the light blue covers of the bed don't go with the heavy dark theme that the rest of the palace sports. However, the room is certainly grand. The beautifully carved mahogany furniture and the gold accents along the white ceiling make it obvious that this room was expensive to furnish.

Peeta doesn't notice me at first, it takes me stumbling against a desk as I pry myself past the door for him to look up from his book.

"Oh, Katniss," he says, taking me in with his eyes as jumps from where he is laying and quickly navigates piles of books to greet me.

"So, how do I look after all of that. You better say I look nice after all the torture you put me through," I mumble, adjusting my corset one last time.

"You look-," he pauses a bit, glancing for a moment where he shouldn't, "beautiful."

I scoff, "We can both acknowledge that I look like a whore." It's true. The bright colors and dangerously low neckline make a statement about my position in this court. It would take a second appearing in court with Peeta for everybody to know exactly who I was sleeping with.

He chuckles, "You don't look like a whore at all. You look quite nice. Here, come sit with me on the bed."

He takes my hand and helps me through the mess and pulls himself onto the bed, pushing me up with him and settling me in his lap.

I've never been this close with a man before, and certainly not in a bed. With my breasts so displayed, and with my backside pressed against this lap, the position feels far more intimate than it was probably intended to.

"I'm sorry about the mess," he says, "I've been going through the books all week doing research."

"Oh," I say, not exactly sure what he is talking about, "Is this your chamber? I didn't imagine it like this."

"You imagined my bedroom? Why Katniss, how impure of you," he jokes, causing me to scowl.

"I didn't mean that!" I protest.

He presses me closer against him, "I highly doubt you did, I was just kidding with you. And no, this is not my official bedroom. It's just a safer place for these sorts of meetings, and I come here when I need to think."

"Oh," I pull my body sidewards so that we are not touching as much, "That's nice."

He doesn't respond for a moment, leaving us in an awkward silence for a few seconds.

"You know, Katniss, if this position makes you uncomfortable nobody is ever going to believe that we are sleeping together."

I blush at the implications of the word "sleeping". I know that he does not mean innocently sharing a bed.

"If you want to back out… I wouldn't be angry with you," he says.

I contemplate it for a moment before giving him a firm, "No," I have given much thought to the proposition, and he was right when he said it would be the safest move for both of us.

"If you are perfectly sure, then perhaps we should move on to your cover."

I pull my body back around so that my elbows are pressed against the bed, "What cover?"

"Well, you didn't expect to simply be Katniss Everdeen while you were here? Did you?"

* * *

**Author's Note: I'm really sorry if this chapter is terrible. I'm putting this up unedited and I wrote it in a a free hour while I was upset. I'm in the middle of a family medical emergency and I just wanted to give something to you guys. If everything is terrible, let me know and I will just rewrite it. Again, really sorry if this is bad.**

**I would like to give a big thanks to my beta, ohalaskayoung, she is amazing even though I'm a pretty flaky writer.**

**As always, you can follow me on tumblr at starveinsafety. I post inspiration boards for all of my stories on there.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything in the Hunger Games trilogy universe. All characters and places are the property of their respective owners.**

It's not that I expected to be Katniss Everdeen. I'm not dull. I know that a girl of my status could never pass for the royal mistress, a position that despite being tawdry, demanded respect. Apart from the generally scandalous nature of fornication and adultery, the royal mistress had the King's ear, and morals would never get in the way of that sort of power. Even though her children may never be King, everybody knew that the current mistress of the King had more power than her legal counterpart.

So even though I knew that simply Katniss wouldn't do, I'm surprised at the in depth cover that I receive.

"Your name is Lady Katna," Peeta says, handing me a small leather bound book, "Inside this journal you will find all the information you need about your cover."

"Who exactly came up with all of this?" I say, flipping through the pages. From what I can tell, it's pretty full.

He sorts through some books, landing on a heavy edition and crying, "Ah, here it is!"

I frown, "Here's what?"

He looks up at me, "You should probably study this one too. It includes basic etiquette and history lessons for young ladies. The writing should improve your literacy skills as well," he tosses the book towards my end of the bed, "As far as the journal, I did all of the research on my own and wrote it down. There are no complex words, and every page is marked with a number corresponding to the contents page. It should be very easy for you to get through."

I bend the brown leather cover back and fold the crease as Peeta speaks, "Essentially, the basics of your story are simple. Your father is Lord John of Avonlea. A Lord John of Avonlea does exist, but he is a recluse. Nobody will know him well enough to prove that you are a fraud."

"Avonlea," I say, "That is near Twelf, am I correct?" I remember seeing the crumbling estate when my father and I walked the long route to trade with the more rural villages.

He nods, "It is. I'm claiming that we met while I was in exile, which is actually close enough to the truth that the lie will be easy. Only this time you are a Lord's daughter, and not the product of a thief."

I glare at his accusations about my father, "Don't say that."

He raises his hands, "I didn't mean any offence. It's only the truth."

I sigh against the headboard, "How exactly will I explain why nobody knows me? Why I have no history with anybody here? Eventually somebody is going to find me out when I can't speak Latin or use the right fork."

He lights up, "Ah, you see that is where the brilliance of this plan really shines. As the daughter of a recluse who grew up far away from court, you will not be expected to have the finest manners. Sure, people may not accept you because of your lack of proper breeding, but you will still be the daughter of a lord."

He has a point. The daughter of a recluse growing up all the way out in Avonlea wouldn't have socialized with many of the elite. She would have my manners and my ignorance. With the reading and lessons I learned from sitting in on Peeta's tutoring, this might actually work. It was a solid plan.

"So, am I going to have to get used to being called Katna?" I ask him, playing with the gold tassel of a pillow.

"I guess you could say that Katniss is a pet name, but most will probably call you Katna. We don't need your real name being that commonly used, for safety reasons. I'm not going to wave you around in Snow's face."

I nod, "So that's it, I study these books and follow you around?"

He gives a bitter laugh, "That is far from it, but we will get to the rest later. I want to show you something now," he slides off of the bed and trudges across the room.

"Come here," he says, motioning for me to follow. I obey, barely managing to keep my balance with all of the books on the floor.

"This room has been here since the palace was built. It was my father's safe haven long before it was mine. There are many secrets here, for example, if you would please roll up the garden tapestry right there," he points to the wall.

I follow his directions, curling up the expensive embroidered cloth and holding it closed. Now, without the tapestry to cover it, I see the faint outline where the wooden wall has been cut into. It's a hidden compartment, just like the one I came in through.

Without speaking Peeta produces a small knife from his pocket and picks at the door until he is able to pry it open.

"It's not exactly the best of hiding places, but it does the job," he says, revealing the contents. The compartment goes back about a foot, and it's lined with shiny weapons balanced on pegs. Common kitchen knives, throwing knives, a satchel of arrows, a sickle, and a few silver handled swords.

"They're beautiful," I say, running my fingers along the edge of a bastard sword, "Where exactly did you get all of these?"

"They are from my personal collection," he laughs, "You are the only girl I know who enjoys weapons like that. Anyways, you are free to pick whatever you think you can hide in your skirts. And for the love of god, make sure to put a sheath on it before you go around slipping it down your dress."

I turn a little red at the memory. A few years ago, about a year after Peeta and I had met, I had managed to steal a small cutting knife from one of his guards, and I had cut my thigh in the process of hiding it.

* * *

After thirty minutes of deliberation, I choose a basic straightback bladed knife, a spayer, and a medium sized drop-point knife. They are the easiest and most effective blades for any enemies I may encounter, and I wasn't really up for the weight of a sword. MY heavy skirts and gems were already weighing my body down. The last thing I needed was a well made sword around my waist.

The first two knifes find a home in my pockets, easily concealed by the bulky layers of my dress, but I quickly run out of room. I could hide the drop-point under my dress, but it would be worthless as the retrieval would be far too hard. Peeta must notice my frustration, because he makes sure to give a cheeky comment.

"Hide it in your bosom," he says, looking up from the book he is examining.

Bosom. It's an awful word in the first place, but hearing it from Peeta makes me squirm.

I spit at him, "What has gotten in to you? You've been so uncivil."

Peeta rolls his eyes, "I'm not being rude, just practical. It's thin enough, just slip it down your corset. I will say it again, you're going to have to get over your shyness towards things of a sexual nature. If we plan on executing this correctly you are going to have to build up your skin." he says in a matter of fact tone, returning to his book.

Cheekiness aside, he does turn out to be right. Although it is slightly uncomfortable, the blade fits perfectly between my corset and shift.

Peeta takes note of my obedience, "Good. Since you are done figuring all of that out we should go take our meal. It's getting late out, and I wouldn't want to waste that dress."

* * *

The meal, it turns out, would not be a private affair. Much to my distress, the meals here were apparently held banquet style, with Peeta situated in a table at the front of the room and me sitting beside him.

The food here is absolutely glorious. A million different combinations of flavors line the tables, with every food I could possibly imagine being offered to me. The portions are large too, and I note that many people don't eat what is on their plate. It's interesting how so many people are starving, yet the nobles can't even bother to finish their plates.

I, on the other hand, devour everything in sight. Colored jellies of swans, peacocks, and pheasants line the pedestals offered to me. The pies containing roe-deer, gosling, chicken, turkey, pigeons, rabbits and even minced veal probably came from the same forest that feeds my own family. All of this food is arranged on tables surrounding the center piece, a table surrounded by peacock feathers and decorated with violets.

Unlike the other nobles, Peeta and I do not pick out our own food. Instead a trio of servants comes to us, offering heaping platefuls of every one of the courses.

"Pace yourself," Peeta says to me, taking a sip of a sugary cream adorned with fennel seeds, "or you will not have any room for dessert."

I give him a nod of affirmation, realizing that if I tried to eat every bite I might miss out on all the flavorful opportunities here.

"Luckily I was able to arrange that we sit at the grand table alone today…" he starts.

"Luckily?" I question.

"This way you do not have to interact with anybody here in your current unprepared state. That being said, people may approach us. If this happens, let me do the talking and stay quiet."

I take a bite of a raspberry in semi clear sugary white sauce, "Stop attempting to act superior, it's really not an attractive personality on you."

He gives an overly audible sigh, "I'm not acting superior, Katniss. I'm just trying to get everything done. Do you want me to explain again that you were almost killed?" His voice drops to a low scathing whisper, "Killed, Katniss. You could have been dead right now."

"I would have been fine," I lie. I can stick up for myself, sure, but I wouldn't last against a well trained hitman.

He scoffs, "We both know that isn't true. Can't you just admit that you can't do everything on your own?" he stops and leans in close, so that his face prickles against me skin, "People are watching. I want to turn a little red, like I said something sexual to you," at the word 'sexual' I instinctually turn crimson, "now take a sip of your wine and kiss me on the cheek."

I follow his directions. I take a fast swig of the wine, which is surprisingly tart, before reaching upward and bopping his cheek with my lips.

* * *

It's when I finish my second sip of wine that I notice the man. With a stride of confidence he joins our table, pulling out the seat across from me and loudly placing his chalice on the table. He's older, with hair as white as the rose tucked in his pocket.

"Your Majesty," his voice is full of a smooth arrogance and mock respect, "I'm afraid you have been keeping a little treasure from me. Everybody has noticed this little gem," he gives a nod in my direction, "do introduce me to this lovely girl."

Peeta turns a little pale,"Coriolanus, this is Lady Katna."

Duke Coriolanus, the man who had ruled in Peeta's place before he was old enough. The man who had tried to kill me.

At the realization that somebody who wants me dead is sitting that close to me, my blood turns cold. But I don't look down or turn away, I stare straight at Snow and in a sugary sweet voice I address him.

I give a bright smile, "You must be the Duke, it's a real pleasure to meet you."

* * *

**I'm sending this out un-betaed for the second time. Which I am really sorry about, but I have great excuses. My cousin (who is like a sister) recently had surgery and so I had to get chapter six up ASAP or you would have had to wait a couple of weeks. Now I am going on spring break and I will not be bringing my computer. Also, this chapter is a little short, but it has been hard for me to write with all of the hectic stuff going on in my life. So I'm really sorry about that. **

**I would like to thank my beta, ohalaskayoung, for being very understanding with my flakiness.**

**As always, you can follow me on tumblr at starveinsafety. I put a bunch of inspiration boards on there for this story and By Your Hand I Have Loved.**


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